


How Lincoln Knew Nick

by kerithwyn



Category: Fringe
Genre: Crack, Multi, Original Character(s), Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Over There, Part 1": Lincoln sees Nick Lane and Sally Clark on the bridge and calls out:</p><p>LINCOLN LEE: Nick?</p><p>--so how did Lincoln in Red'verse know Blue'verse Nick?</p><p>Three possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Lincoln Knew Nick

**Author's Note:**

> Completely self-indulgent. I was reading elfin's _[Ways and Means](http://archiveofourown.org/series/617)_ series and couldn't help myself, I wanted a Nick Lane to play with too.

I.

It's months before the subject comes up; Liv had some kind of psychotic break, but she's back on the job now and picking up right where she left off, filling in the details she'd missed. He's not sure it's a good idea for her to be dwelling on the day they learned about the invaders from another world, the day she lost herself, but when could he ever dissuade Liv from anything?

"No, c'mon, the cuff recorded it," she insists. "You called him 'Nick.'"

She'd reviewed the comms from that day, which automatically documented all sounds for later evaluation. He'd clearly called out Nick's name to the...doppelganger, the man from the other side wearing Nick's face, and she just won't let it go.

"Did you know him?"

Lincoln sighs and answers as casually as he can. "Thought I did. Nick Lane was in my class at the Academy. A friend. But that wasn't him, right?"

She taps on a pad, humming a little. "Yeah. So you and this Nick Lane, you were close?"

"Yeah," he says shortly, ignoring her raised eyebrow. For once, he has something she doesn't need to know, and leaves it at, "Not anymore."

Liv eyes him, knowing there's more (of course there is, he can't hide anything) but miraculously choosing not to push. Maybe she's had enough people poking around in her head lately to understand the value of keeping something private.

Lincoln tells Liv everything, mostly, can't hardly help it, but Nick he's keeping for himself. He hadn't lied: Nick had been a friend. The omission: Nick had been considerably more than that.

Nick hadn't been his first lover but he was the one Lincoln thought of most often, when he wasn't caught up with Charlie and Liv.

Nick was...*bright,* was the only word for it. Not just intellectually--although he was certainly smart enough for the Academy, smart enough to keep up with whatever the instructors threw at them, even if he hadn't opted for the advanced science classes. Nick was emotionally bright. When he laughed, you laughed. When he was angry, the whole room might erupt in a brawl.

He wasn't a Fringe case, not like some of the people Lincoln saw in the years since, the ones who'd gained freakish abilities as the logic of the world fell apart. He was just...Nick, slender and wicked and open like a book and closed like a bank vault. Complicated. Lincoln had loved him, all the layers he could reach, knowing there were parts of Nick he'd never see.

Things between them had been intense for awhile, the secrecy necessary to carrying out an affair at school adding to the spice. They'd met after-hours in lab rooms, conference halls, even, ridiculously, under the bleachers. It was a stupid risk, especially as freshmen without seniority or rank to get away with it.

Nick was volatile in a way Lincoln never understood, his emotional intensity both exhilarating and terrifying when it was focused on you, leaving you bereft if it wasn't. Being with him was like an addiction, his presence quickly becoming necessary and dangerous. Lincoln's grades dropped for the first time ever, prompting a humiliating call from his father.

But when Lincoln tried to get things back on an even keel, to reestablish some kind of balance, Nick had reacted badly. Their breakup had been vicious, one of the few times Lincoln had ever really doubted himself. It took months before he was ready to date again, and he'd been wary of that kind of emotional commitment ever since.

(It's only later, after he and Nick parted ways, that Lincoln came to understand that Nick had bipolar disorder, easily controlled with drugs if he'd deign to take them--and he had to assume Nick was, because he'd never be allowed on active duty otherwise.)

Once he'd healed up from the burns Lincoln had wanted to call him, hear his voice to dispel the afterimage of watching that other "Nick Lane" die. But Nick--no-longer-his Nick--was in Dakota, stationed with another Fringe team, fighting the dissolution of the world as fiercely as he could. And he wasn't in any way cleared to know about alternate universes or mirror-image doubles, so Lincoln contented himself with looking up Nick's record (not technically permitted, but RHiP), saw that he'd distinguished himself with his service and not gotten himself eaten by a vortex, and had to leave it at that.

***

II.

Working for Fringe Division doesn't give Lincoln a lot of time to socialize, but he does eventually meet his neighbors: hippie-chick Gail, Mr. and Mrs. Dawson, and the guys across the hall, Nick Lane and James Heath.

They're not lovers, but Lincoln thinks he can be excused for thinking so at first; the way James fusses over Nick, he's as anxious as any devoted partner. It turns out they've been friends since they were practically infants at some daycare down in Jacksonville. They're completely opposite, but fit together perfectly.

Nick is sunny as the day is long, cheerful and optimistic; James is sour, pessimistic, often grumpy. Nick is an artist who does graphic design by day and paints odd, disturbing asymmetrical canvases by night. James works as a nurse at a hospital and spends his leisure time volunteering at a food bank.

James is fiercely protective of Nick, but Lincoln doesn't understand why until the day of the spontaneous "hey, we didn't get devoured by a vortex today" block party. Everyone turns out, contributing music and food and drugs (legal and otherwise, and Lincoln carefully looks the other way) and alcohol and even rarer celebratory gifts. Lincoln is standing by a stoop down the street where a woman is handing out thimblefuls of coffee; he's already drank his, the flavor strong and cherished on his tongue. He's unable to bring himself to move away from the gorgeous scent of the brew pot until James appears in a panic. Nick had gotten away from him in the crowd and Lincoln is all set to say "let him off the leash, man" when they both spot him on the edge of the roof of the opposite brownstone, swaying like a leaf in the nonexistent breeze.

Part of Lincoln's training involved crisis management and he hasn't drunk that much yet, so he flashes his badge and gets people to move back. He heads up to the roof, putting on his best soothing body language and voice, and tries to talk the guy down. Nick doesn't say anything for a long time, just stares out over the city, where occasional dots of amber shine in the distance under the setting sun. Lincoln is _thisclose_ to shooting him in the leg when Nick yawns, announces he's sleepy, and drifts away from the ledge and back to their apartment building. Lincoln and James, following, find him curled up in bed, unconscious to the world, still fully dressed.

James just sighs and wrestles his shoes off (Nick doesn't stir an inch), covers Nick with a blanket, and motions for Lincoln to follow him. In the bathroom, he shows Lincoln a drawer full of pill bottles: anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. The former he recognizes, the pills no longer needing a prescription and handed out for free. The latter include some powerful, quasi-legal substances, a few experimental, two Lincoln's never heard of before. Somehow this arcane cocktail keeps Nick functional, and he understands that by showing him this, James has designated Lincoln as Nick's backup caretaker.

It's a responsibility he takes seriously, right up to the day that he has to shoot a Nick Lane from an alternate universe in Central Park. The girl with him turns out to be a human firebomb. While Lincoln's in recovery, he asks the division to move his stuff out of his apartment and set it up elsewhere. It's as much for his comfort as Nick's, he rationalizes; there's no way he's going to be able to look Nick in the eye after killing his double, and Nick's sensitivity might pick up on Lincoln's discomfort and translate it into something dangerous.

James is predictably, cynically accepting when Lincoln calls him to let him know that no, he's not dead, but work demands he move elsewhere. He doesn't ask any questions and Lincoln tells him no lies. Lincoln sets his cuff to alert him to any disturbance at their building, and he watches for drug trials that might help Nick out, but otherwise he keeps his distance. He thinks of them often as the world continues to fall apart, realizing too late that he might as well have stayed for all the time they have left. But the Fringe cases get stranger and more frequent, and then there's Liv and the baby, and he's barely home at all anyway.

***

III.

"Science fiction," Sally sings, tunelessly. "Double feature!"

Lincoln stares at her with confusion. "What the hell?"

Nick appears in the doorway from the bedroom with a pile of clothing, most of it black. "Okay, I think we can put something together."

"He doesn't have the legs for fishnets, though," Sally says with a critical, disappointed tone, eyeing him.

"Fish-- what are you talking about?" She'd ambushed him in the bathroom, half-undressed after dinner. He doesn't mind that--in this apartment, privacy is a rare thing, and there isn't a bit of each other that the other two haven't seen--but now she's not making any sense and it's making him nervous.

"Rocky Horror!" Nick says, his face full of enthusiasm. "It'll be fun."

He's heard of this, vaguely, some kind of cult movie with "audience participation," which as far as he can tell means a bunch of drunk people yelling at the screen. He doesn't object to the drunk part or even the yelling, necessarily, but in a movie theater?

"I can't believe you've never seen it." Sally's voice is full of disbelief, but she should know better; Lincoln's never had much time for silly diversions, with his class schedule and his career goals. So he missed out on a couple of traditional teenage activities--he wants to save the world.

But it's Nick and Sally who pulled him out of his head and gave him something more like a normal social life, and it hasn't interfered with his objectives at all. Besides, when they get a shared idea in their heads, it's always safest to play along.

He puts on his most stubborn expression, which isn't very and both of them know it, but he's obligated to protest. "Sounds lame."

"Only because you've never gone. You'll see," Nick says earnestly, as if he really needs to talk Lincoln into anything.

"And I need special clothing for this?"

Sally rolls her eyes at him. "Yes. And makeup. You'll be the belle of the ball, trust me." She points to the toilet lid (it's down, she has him and Nick well trained) and he sits, resigned to his fate.

"You won't make me look stupid, right?"

"Sure, baby," she promises, and he doesn't feel reassured at all.

After that it's a blur of brushes and arcane implements and "look up" and a fleeting moment of terror as the tip of what feels like a deadly weapon traces his eye. His face feels strange, not his own, and Sally keeps adding layers, attacking his skin with a saliva-wet tissue when something doesn't match up to her meticulous standard.

Finally she steps back, obviously pleased with her hard work. He starts to get up to look in the mirror but Nick steps in, comb and hair gel at the ready. At least those look familiar, from Nick's morning preparations. Nick looks at him, a goofy smile stretching across his lips. "*Hot.*"

He leans in for a kiss and Lincoln meets him, gladly. Things get heated fast and he only faintly hears Sally behind them, saying in a satisfied tone, "Knew I was right to hold off on the lipstick."

"We could...stay in," Lincoln says hoarsely when Nick pulls back, but Nick's eyes are shining and suddenly Lincoln wants this, whatever this is, if it makes Nick this happy.

"Hold still," Nick says, and goes to work on Lincoln's head. Whatever he's doing doesn't take half as long as Sally's efforts, and with a cloud of hairspray that makes Lincoln want to sneeze, he's done.

"Okay, one more thing," Sally says, coming forward with a small tube, and he knows very well what's next but he's come this far, so what the hell. She kisses him first, licking the taste of Nick out of his mouth and replacing the flavor with her strawberry lip gloss, his favorite. "Pucker up, baby."

The lipstick feels weirder than all the rest of it combined, and Sally admonishes him not to eat it before she finally lets him go. He stands up to look in the bathroom mirror and--

It's him but *not* him, face softened and yet somehow more defined by the makeup. He's...pretty. No, fuck that, he's *gorgeous.* Sally's work is more subtle than he would have thought, given how much of the stuff if felt like she put on his face.

"I am a *genius,*" Sally proclaims, and he's inclined to agree. She waves her hand toward the black pile. "Something in there should fit."

Nick and Sally had, apparently, raided every second-hand store in town to find a suitable outfit. There's a pair of black leather pants that fit like a glove, and a mesh-like...*thing* that he holds upside down, puzzled, until Nick shows him how it goes. "High heels would be better, but you can wear your Doc Martens," Sally says.

"Thank heaven for small favors," he snarks, and she sticks out her tongue at him.

"What kind of freakshow *is* this?" he whispers to Nick while she's out of earshot, working on her own makeup.

"Oh, you'll love it, there's a script and everything--but you don't have to worry about that, you're a virgin." Nick grins at him. "For this, anyway."

That doesn't tell him anything and in fact sounds slightly alarming, but he's willing to go with it. Lincoln trusts Nick and Sally more than he's ever trusted anyone else, and if they promise it'll be entertaining, he has to take them at their word. And if the looks they both keep shooting him are anything to go by, there'll be sexyfuntimes afterward, no matter how the movie goes. That, he can look forward to without hesitation.

(The movie is ridiculous, and Lincoln keeps losing the thread of it--what thread there is--with all the shouting. But the people around him are having a great time, and by the end of it he's relaxed enough to appreciate the spirit, if not the substance. The next time Nick and Sally suggest a midnight show, he's more prepared; the time after that, he's the one to prompt it. After a couple of months, he's recruited for the stage show. It's true, he doesn’t have the legs for Frank, but he does a mean Riff Raff and can pinch-hit Eddie.

The crowd is fun, but what keeps him coming back is the truly outrageous sex he and Nick and Sally have afterward. The movie, as it turns out, is optional; the act of picking up the eyeliner pencil is enough to provoke a Pavlovian response from both of them.)

 

Years later, it's the moment Lincoln hears Olivia Dunham's alarm ring with the _Rocky Horror_ theme song that he begins to fall in love with her.

**Author's Note:**

> I.) Set post-"Olivia," while Olivia's in Red'verse with Liv's memories. Going with the "Cortexiphan enhances what's already there" theory, perhaps alt!Nick was hyper-emotive too.
> 
> II.) Of course with this scenario Lincoln would have recognized James too, but we're AU of an AU here, so in for a penny....
> 
> III.) Liv's ring tone in "Over There, Part 1" is "Science Fiction/Double Feature"; that's probably why I could never entirely hate her. And from ["Perfection, Squared"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/240263): "My girlfriend did the makeup. My boyfriend did the hair."


End file.
